Vessel
by Renee6061
Summary: Missing scene from "Talisman." What happened after Clark's mysterious healing?


Rating: PG

Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine.

Author's note: Another missing scene, this time from "Talisman." As always, Smallvillian, thanks so much for your help.

Vessel

Jonathan knelt on the kitchen floor beside his son, using a kitchen towel to soak up the blood from Clark's chest. A tiny scar that was all that remained of the gaping wound of just moments before.

But there was still so much blood. So much. . . . It was sticking to his hands, turning cooler, as cold as it would have been in death. Jonathan swallowed against the churning in his stomach, closed his eyes against the harsh pounding in his suddenly tightened chest. He gasped, trying to draw air into lungs that seemed to have been sucked empty.

Martha tore her gaze away from her son to look at her husband. "Jonathan, you're white as a sheet," she whispered, touching his face anxiously. "Where's your medication?"

He forced his eyes open and tried to focus on her image swimming in front of him. "Sweetheart, I'll be all right in a—"

"_Jonathan."_

When she used that tone, he knew better than to argue. "Medicine cabinet."

He sat back on his heels, taking deep breaths, while Martha disappeared down the hall, returning in a minute with a pill bottle and a paper cup filled with water. "I don't suppose you ever thought of keeping it with you," she scolded gently as she squatted down next to him.

"I didn't think I'd need it tonight."

As Jonathan reached mechanically for the bottle she was holding, he caught sight of his own hands. For a moment he had forgotten they were still covered with his son's blood. He flinched violently, nearly spilling the water. Martha quickly set it down and put a steadying hand on his arm. "Shh—it's all right. I've got it."

She fumbled to open the bottle, tipped out a pill and put it on his tongue, then held the water for him to swallow.

"Come on, sweetheart, lean back." She helped him slide over against the wall. "I'll clean him up."

She stood and went for fresh towels, handing her husband a damp one, and watched silently while he scrubbed every inch of his hands as though trying to wipe the offending color out of existence. Then she went back to kneel beside Clark and continue mopping up the blood. Their son still lay unconscious, but the gray tinge had left his face and he was breathing normally.

Jonathan sat watching her, a great weariness in his eyes. Martha hadn't asked again how he had healed their son. But he knew the conversation wasn't finished. What could he possibly say to her?

What would she do if she knew the nightmare wasn't over?

Jonathan tossed the sticky rag aside and rested his forehead on his hands. He hadn't felt so utterly drained since Jor-El's temporary powers had left him that night in Metropolis. But worse than the physical weakness were the fear and guilt crushing his spirit.

Once he had believed that by sheer will, he could form a protective shield around those he loved. He had staked everything on that belief. Even when he had first suspected the truth about the heart disease that had come out of nowhere, he'd known that if this was what it took to protect his son from Jor-El's tyranny, he would go through with it. He had to. Clark's future had never been his to give away.

But now—now he was desperately afraid for his son. What if even giving up his own life wasn't enough to break Jor-El's connection with Clark? He was nearing the end of his strength, but his invisible enemy showed no signs of tiring. On the contrary, Jor-El was proving unexpectedly resourceful. Would he simply wait until Jonathan was out of the way and then find some other way to get to Clark?

Lost in his own thoughts, Jonathan started slightly when Martha got up again to take the blood-soaked towels to the kitchen sink and wash her hands. "Is he okay?" he whispered hoarsely as she came back to him.

"He's going to be." Martha lowered herself to the floor and curled up against Jonathan, as if she too were starting to feel the physical strain of their shock and fright. He put his arm around her, more hesitantly than usual, though she was too tired to notice.

Until the last few weeks, it had been the easiest thing in the world for him to express his love for his wife and son through a hug or a gentle hand on the shoulder. Now, with self-loathing growing in him, it was sometimes a painful effort just to reach out to them. He shrank from the thought of how they would look at him if they knew what he had done.

_They'd never forgive me._

Martha was speaking again. "Jeremiah must have found him after all." Her voice shook. "Jonathan, what he must have gone through . . ." She turned her head and buried her face in his shoulder.

"Shhh, Martha." It was his turn to comfort her as she wept. He pushed the thought of Jor-El away from him as he stroked her hair. "He's safe now." He closed his eyes tightly, holding back tears of his own. "He's safe." He prayed silently that his words were true.

"Jonathan?" Martha lifted her head and looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. Her voice was barely a whisper. "How?"

Jonathan gritted his teeth to keep from flinching again at the memory of the power that had invaded his body without warning, all but turning his bones to water.

"Martha, I—I'm honestly not sure."

She didn't reply, just sat very still, studying his face, as if trying to guess how much he really knew. He looked down, unable to stand the intensity of her scrutiny, even as he absently rubbed her shoulders with one hand in a futile attempt to reassure her.

His words were true in a way—he didn't know exactly _how_ Jor-El had done it. All he could figure out was that in taking those powers, he must have let Jor-El create some kind of link between them—a link that the mysterious entity now felt free to use whenever he wanted. He had even managed to bend Jonathan's mind to his own will once or twice, leading him to take the key away from the farm at crucial moments.

But Jonathan had never expected Jor-El to use him as a conduit to Clark. What if—what if Jor-El could eventually control his mind enough to force him to turn Clark over? He felt the sweat on his face turning icy.

_Oh, God, what am I going to do?_

His thoughts were cut off sharply as the phone rang.

"Who in the world . . . ?" Martha sat up.

"Just let the machine get it, sweetheart."

"But it might be important." She dragged herself up off the floor and went to the phone.

"Hello?"

Jonathan stumbled up from the floor himself, completely uninterested in who was on the other end of the line. Weak or not, he couldn't sit there another minute letting fear prey on him, or he would lose his mind. With one more anxious glance at Clark, he went into the bathroom to wash his hands again.

When he came back out, Martha met him in the hallway. Her words were brief and to the point. "Jonathan, that was Lex. Jeremiah just kidnapped Lionel."

Jonathan leaned against the doorframe, trying to absorb this new shock. Of all the people in the world he would have been worried about in such a situation, Lionel Luthor was at the very bottom of the list. No, he wasn't even _on_ the list. But they had spent sixteen years teaching their son about the value of human life, no matter whom it belonged to. They couldn't go back on that now, or everything they had told him would be a lie.

He looked again at Clark stretched out on the floor. "When he wakes up . . ." he whispered, leaving the thought unfinished.

"He might not be strong enough," Martha protested, also in a whisper.

Jonathan simply nodded and sighed. "We'll see." He was still watching his son. "I don't think we can move him." He looked back at her then, noticing in the brighter light of the hallway how pale she was. "Why don't you go try to get some sleep? I'll stay with him."

"No, I don't want to leave him either. I'll go get a blanket." She stroked his arm gently as she moved past him and headed towards the stairs.

Jonathan stood looking after her for a minute before he pushed himself away from the doorframe and walked slowly to the hall closet. He opened the door and took out Clark's jacket.

When Martha returned, Jonathan was again sitting on the floor by Clark, the jacket in his lap. He helped her cover their son with the red blanket she'd brought. Martha sat at the bottom of the kitchen steps and eased a pillow under Clark's head.

They both sat watching their son for a moment. He looked as calm and contented as if he had been sleeping in his own bed. Martha rested her head against the wall and lightly brushed her fingers through Clark's hair.

She lifted her eyes to Jonathan, but he didn't notice; his own gaze was still fixed on Clark. He had taken off his own jacket and undone another button on his shirt, and a little of the color was coming back to his face. But his haunted expression sent a chill through her. _What is Jor-El doing to him? Why can't he tell me?_

Jonathan could feel her troubled eyes on him. He didn't dare look up, afraid she would somehow read what was in his mind. He sat massaging Clark's shoulder, concentrating on his face, until he could tell by the sound of Martha's easy breathing that she had finally fallen asleep.

He leaned back against the wall then, watching the two of them. The peace of the scene was beginning to calm his mind in spite of himself. He wouldn't dwell anymore on his fears, not tonight. He had controlled them this long. He couldn't give way to them now, or he wouldn't be able to protect Clark.

_If I _can _protect him . . ._

Again he pushed the thought from his mind. Clark was alive. That was all that mattered right now. The thing that was killing Jonathan by inches had just saved his son's life. Maybe . . . maybe there was hope for Clark. He was still safe with his parents, his mind still free from the corrupting influence of the being in the cave. Jonathan would fight with everything he had to keep it that way. He could only pray that it would be enough.

He rested his hand on his son's chest, comforted at last by the strong, steady heartbeat under his palm, and closed his eyes.

The End


End file.
